Chapter 1: What’s Nick Dorsey Doing Here?
The wedding was off.
Bethany Hendren steered the rental car over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, her fingers clenching the wheel as she drove eastbound toward Maryland’s Eastern Shore and her final destination—Worthington Cove. The sweep of water below the two-lane span sparkled as undulating swells reflected the setting sun. Only ten more miles to go before she could stop, allow herself to think, and fully embrace the fact that she was done with him.
Coming here was a spur-of-the-moment decision, made amid tears and a bottle of cabernet after she’d discovered Owen’s secret. She’d been blindsided—never imagining he could be capable of doing that to her or she’d be oblivious when it happened. But here she was, reeling from the reality that her fiancé—make that ex-fiancé—was a philanderer. And a liar.
When she’d confronted him with evidence that his relationship with Kayla went beyond coworkers, his admission had left her nauseous and woozy. Now, after a five-hour flight from Oklahoma City to Baltimore, and another hour of driving, she’d progressed from shell-shocked to seething. She’d trusted him, and he’d betrayed her.
Her plan was to sort through everything with Aunt Ginny, who always knew the right thing to do when emotions threatened to override rational thought. With Aunt Ginny’s help, she’d keep a level head and stick to her decision that Owen was not worth her forgiveness—or a second chance.
But Aunt Ginny didn’t know she was coming, because Bethany hadn’t told her, or anyone else, about the breakup.
The welcome sign for Worthington Cove came into view and she took comfort in the rows of familiar, colonial-era houses while navigating the town’s streets. Ten years had passed since Bethany last visited her aunt and this small Kent Island town. But many childhood visits had stamped the route into her memory. She followed Main Street until she saw the State Street signpost, then turned right and guided the car down the cobblestone-paved road to Horatio House, the town’s historic bed-and-breakfast.
She’d wanted to stay here since its renovation several years ago, envisioning it as the perfect destination for a romantic getaway. Except her love life was in ruins, so the centuries-old plantation house would be a hideaway instead, a neutral place where she could manage her anger, discard the humiliation, and move forward unencumbered.
Dusk had taken hold, but the inn’s porch lights banished the shadows with their gentle glow. After unloading her luggage, Bethany paused to admire the stately house. Six tall pillars supported the front porch, which spanned the exterior’s entire width. Dark shutters flanked the windows on the first and second floors, and three dormer windows jutted from the top floor’s gambrel roof. The place was grand, a stark contrast to what she remembered when visiting as a kid—a dilapidated hulk with boarded windows, peeling paint, and an overgrown lawn.
Bethany grabbed her suitcase, climbed the front steps, and opened the door. Inside, the scent of cinnamon and baked apples greeted her as she took in the entryway’s polished hardwood floor, gleaming from the soft light of a crystal chandelier. Beyond the foyer, several beige sofas and upholstered wingback chairs formed a casual seating area in front of a brick fireplace. The effect was comfortable and welcoming, like she’d stepped into a larger version of Aunt Ginny’s cozy living room. And for the first time since downing the wine, booking the plane ticket, and reserving a room, it didn’t hurt when she took a breath.
As she made her way to the front desk—an antique writing table by the stairs—an elegant gray-haired woman walked into the foyer and stopped, breathing in a quiet gasp when she saw Bethany. After staring for several seconds, the woman recovered and smiled warmly.
“Hi! You must be Ms. Hendren. Welcome to Horatio House. I’m Margaret Snowden, the innkeeper.”
“Please call me Bethany.”
“Bethany it is, then. Your room is ready.” Mrs. Snowden selected an envelope lying on the desk and handed it to her, then tapped the vintage call bell. “I put you in the Howard Room, upstairs to the right. My nephew will carry your luggage up.”
Bethany glanced at the staircase, admiring its graceful curve. “This house is lovely.”
“Thank you, dear. We think so, too.”
As Mrs. Snowden spoke, a tall, dark-haired man entered the foyer. He wore jeans and a soft blue crewneck sweater that accentuated his lanky, yet solid, build. As soon as he saw Bethany, his face lit up.
“Bethany!”
He walked toward her as though they were long-lost friends, and she half expected him to pull her into an embrace. Then she recognized the dark chocolate eyes behind the black-framed glasses and her stomach lurched.
Nick Dorsey. He’s Mrs. Snowden’s nephew?
“Aunt Margaret told me you were checking in today.”
Stunned, Bethany stepped backward, bumping into the edge of the desk as her heart thudded. A white-hot flush scorched every inch of her skin as she stared at Nick. Of all the people she could run into, it had to be the first guy to break her heart? And why did he have to be so handsome, with that bit of hair curling over his forehead and late-day stubble?
She inhaled deeply to rein in her composure, hating her can’t-catch-your-breath reaction to him, then dipped her chin in a neutral acknowledgment.
“Hello, Nick.”
His smile morphed into a full-on, lopsided grin. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you. Ten years, I bet. Not since the summer Zach and I got our drivers’ licenses.”
Mrs. Snowden laid her hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Bethany is staying in the Howard Room. Can you help her with her bag?” Then, turning to Bethany, she said, “Come back down when you’re ready and I’ll give you a tour of the house.”
As Bethany followed Nick to the second floor, the pain, questions, and self-doubts she’d buried years ago reemerged, seeping into her belly like liquid concrete. The last thing she needed was Nick Dorsey invading her healing zone. It had taken her months to get over the summer romance they’d shared—and he’d abruptly ended—when they were teens. And even longer before she could bring herself to date again.
And now he was in her safe space.
His gaze swept her face as they walked along the hallway, his demeanor openly curious. “Do you remember this house? The place was an absolute wreck.”
Bethany straightened, determined to remain aloof and unaffected by the depth of his eyes. “Yep. I recall quite a bit.” That you kissed me. Said you loved me. Promised that you’d keep in touch. Then nothing. Silence. Like I never existed. “But I never thought you’d be working here.”
“I help Aunt Margaret now and then, but I work for Maryland’s Eastern Shore Conservation Group. I’m a marine scientist.” He stopped midway down the hall and hovered by a door with a plaque that read “Howard Room.”
“I’ll never forget the day Zach and I dared you to climb over the fence to confront the ghost.” He chuckled. “You walked right onto the rickety porch and banged on that old door. It was monumental.” His eyes gleamed as his lips curved upward, and her heart floundered at the familiar expression.
That day was etched in her memory, too. It was early June, a week after she’d arrived in Worthington Cove to stay with Grandma and Grandpa Hendren for the summer. She’d spent the afternoon at the town beach with her cousins Martie and Zach, and Nick, Zach’s best friend. Nick was different that year. The cute, nerdy kid she’d hung out with the previous summers had transformed into a drop-dead-gorgeous seventeen-year-old. And he’d been flirting with her!
On the way back to her grandparents’ house, they’d all stopped by the rusted chain-link fence surrounding Horatio House—people in town called it the old haunted mansion back then—and Nick started teasing her. He told her a ghost lived inside and bet she didn’t have the guts to knock on the door and see for herself. But she’d accepted the challenge, intending to prove to her cousins and him, mainly him, that she was unafraid. That she could hold her own when it came to that eerie house and, despite being sixteen, she was worthy of his respect.
“That was a long time ago. And as I recall, there wasn’t any evidence to support your ridiculous notion that the house was haunted.” And the days of trying to impress you are long gone.
“Not that day. Anyway, I’m glad you’re back.” He opened the door and motioned her inside the large room. A vintage wrought-iron bed, as well as a nightstand with a tray of wine, cheeses, and stemware, occupied the wall on her left. An enormous stone fireplace, with an antique painting of a woman mounted over the mantel, dominated the opposite side of the room.
Nick studied the portrait as he set down the suitcase, then peered at Bethany. “Oh, wow. You look just like her.”
The woman, dressed in eighteenth-century garments, appeared to be about Bethany’s age. They had the same oval face, narrow nose, chestnut-brown hair, and caramel eyes.
“I see the likeness,” Bethany said. “Who is she?”
“One of the Worthingtons. I’m sure Aunt Margaret knows her name.”
She stepped closer to study the centuries-old canvas and encountered a cold spot in the room. A shiver coursed through her. “Is this room always so chilly?”
He frowned. “Not usually. I’ll check the thermostat.”
Bethany hoisted her suitcase onto the bed, impatient to end this unwelcome encounter with Nick. Then, without thinking, she pivoted away from the mattress and almost collided with him. He threw out his hands to steady her, his face inches away as his fingers clutched her upper arms. His dark eyes locked on hers.
“I turned up the heat.” He maintained his grasp and her breath caught as she stared back, captivated by the richness of his almost-black irises.
“Thank you.”
“And there’s something else.”
“What’s that?” Her heart pounded, sending a rush of blood to her ears. She couldn’t look away. Was he going to apologize? Explain why he’d ghosted her after that summer?
“Even though the family completely redid the inside and outside of the house, the ghost still haunts this place.”
That’s what he wants to tell me?
With a sigh, she shook off his grip and stepped out of his reach, disappointed in him for dodging the chance to explain what happened back then and frustrated with herself for letting him get to her. She’d conquered her feelings for him a decade ago and was determined to squelch any residual heart flutters.
“If you’re trying to spook me, it’s not going to work.”
Again he flashed the grin she’d fallen for so many years ago. “I’m just giving you a heads-up. The ghost is harmless, but its presence can be creepy. And, for some reason, it becomes even more active around this time of year.”
“I appreciate the warning, but I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“You may change your mind.”
She eyed him, unconvinced. “I doubt it.”
“Aunt Margaret and some of her guests have felt its presence in this house. I have, too.”
“Then maybe it’ll visit you.”
“It might. Or it may decide to drop in on you.” Smirking, he headed toward the door. “Just saying.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Fair enough.” He backed into the hallway. “I’ll be stopping by in the morning before work. Aunt Margaret’s pastry is the best in town, and her coffee isn’t bad, either. If you need anything, you’ll know where to find me.”
She nodded, knowing there was absolutely nothing she’d need from Nick Dorsey, and shut the door.
(Published by The Wild Rose Press.)
COPYRIGHT © 2025 by Lori Matsourani
Published in the United States of America by The Wild Rose Press, Inc., PO Box 708 Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708. Visit us at http://www.thewildrosepress.com.
Cover Art by The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
